Locke's Wild Horses
by TheSage1121
Summary: Locke going through a crisis of faith, meets the spectral hands of the island.


Wild Horses

This is my first try at Lost fan fiction. Since the show is so out there, I decided to take a few risks. This will mainly be from the view of Locke. He is out exploring in the jungle when he comes upon a vine-covered mine shaft.

The harsh sun beat down through a canopy John had thought was impenetrable. It seemed all the green foliage did was amplify it, as heat bounced at him from all directions; he squinted in response and trudged on, trying to ignore the coming headache.

He had been out here for nearly 4 days, his excuse had been boar hunting to begin with, but everyone knew that they had moved on and he really did not care. John did not take kindly to most of the other folks of his group. Sure, he liked them all right, enough to live with them. He liked them enough to help them survive this hellacious island. Deep down inside he was different from the rest of them. Well maybe Ana Lucia was... He grimaced at the thought remembering the unfortunate circumstances at The Hatch.

Locke was a born explorer, even before his time on the island. When he was confined to that damn wheel chair, he had known that this was not the way his life was meant to be. The Island it seemed had given him a new chance at life, his legs no longer being useless. John never seemed to be able to get across the fact that he liked it here, here he had his mobility back, and here he had respectability. On this island, there were no worries about parents who no longer cared for him. John felt like he could stay here for the rest of his life, he wanted to. If he only he could convince some of the others. Machete in hand he continued hacking through the undergrowth, leaving wide swath of Palm leaf in his wake.

By about mid-day Locke had decided to rest. A nice fallen log lay not far off the path, he sat down un-shouldering his pack. Had not packed much of a lunch he thought, pulling the small slices of mango and bottle of water from the pack. The mangoes were delicious here he thought, biting into one letting the juice trickle down the back of his throat. Another bite or two later and a couple of swigs of water and he was off.

The sound of jungle was all around him, John relished in it, soaked it in. He fed his tiring body on the energy of the jungle. Off in the distance there came a high squeaking noise, to John it sounded like bats, thousands of them. He hurried through the brush, a new excited gleam in his eyes. As he neared the noise, a gentle chilly breeze wafted towards him. John's mind was racing; it had to be a cave he thought excitedly. Hell who knew? Maybe it was another of the Dharma stations, one that possibly slipped through the gaps. He walked to the hole and started pulling back branches. As more and more of the hole came into view

He could see a rocky floor stretching deep down into the hole. "Well if Dharma was here, they sure didn't bother with pouring some concrete" He chuckled quietly to himself. He hacked down a branch from a nearby tree, taking a shirt from his pack; he began to wrap it around the branch. After lighting the fabricated torch, he proceeded down into the gloom.

There was a deep foreboding that kept trying to push itself into Locke's conscience. It was almost as if he was not supposed to be here, as if with all the island had given him; this it had decided was still its own. Fog hung heavily in the air; it clung to the ground like the work of some demented spider. Eerie moss hung down from the cracks in the limestone, casting filtered shadows across the cave. The ear-splitting screech slowly drew to a stop; John thanked whatever had persuaded them. Not two seconds later the pitch-black roof of the cave undulated into what appeared to be a wave crashing against the shore, with a roar thousands upon thousands of bats erupted from the ceiling. With a quick cry, Locke dropped to the floor, unknowingly cracking his head against a rock. Blood dripped slowly from his wound as the lights faded and he slipped into blackness.

The dream was the same he had been having for months. It was he in the Beech Craft this time not Boone.

Boone was down below the canopy,

"John you've got to get out of there!" He shouted,

John knew he could not leave, there was a radio…

"John…!" The last of the words were choked out as the plane tumbled to the ground below.

"John…John…John!"

Slowly the blackness faded away, John rubbed his eyes. He did not notice the figures at his side yet. Gently pulling himself up into a sitting position, John's vision began to clear. With a scream of terror he finally noticed the figures around him

In a circle around him stood the departed souls of Boone, Shannon, Mr. Echo, and Ana Lucia.

Boone spoke, "John you've stopped trusting yourself, We have brought you here in hopes of changing that. Please follow us" The gore stricken face of the young man horrified John. The group turned and walked deeper into the cave, John groggily got to his feet and followed.


End file.
